Auld Acquaintance
by Dreams2Paper11
Summary: AU: The Light wins on the Watch Tower that fateful New Year's Eve, leaving the helpless Team to the mercy of each of their respective villains. And Vandal Savage still has a bone to pick with the young Kid Flash... Rated T for violence, mind-screwing, pretty-much-apocalyptic situation. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This plot bunny has honestly been ruining my life like why the crap has no one else done this must I really step up and do this ugh commitment ugh.**

**Anyway. I love villains, I'm like the biggest sucker for them, and I enjoyed Vandal Savages's character in the show. I especially liked the banter and fight between him and Kid Flash in the episode "Coldhearted", which prompted this whole thing by the way, and well, villains-claiming-their-own-baby-heroes became a thing, centered around Vandal Savage and Kid Flash. **

**Um, yeah. Enjoy.**

**Totally disregarding the freaking 5 yr time skip btw. Uh-huh. Not even going to _begin _on that one.**

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><p>They dragged Wally into the main room kicking and screaming.<p>

Superman had him in a firm chokehold, his face sandwiched between a cement-hard bicep and forearm. Despite Wally's numerous shudders into super-speed vibration, hoping to induce painful friction burns, Superman was stalwart and unaffected. Wally might as well have been an infant trying to flip a 300 pound sumo wrestler over his shoulder.

"Let _go!" _He hissed. His voice was tight and strained to a higher octave than normal, due to the all-too common mixture of panic and pain. Superman shifted slightly, practically lifting him off his feet, his steel grip not budging even an increment. Wally bucked his body in a flexible maneuver, a frustrated snarl ripping through his chest. It was useless, he knew, because after all this was the frickin' _Man of Steel_ and he was just stupid Wally West screwing stuff up again–

"Superman, it's me, it's _Kid Flash, let go!"_ He knew reasoning would be fruitless–knew that the reverse-engineered devices, now crushed underneath Superman's boot to dust and minuscule fragments, had been their only shot.

And Kid Flash had blown it.

"Save your breath, boy." The deep voice was practically the rough purr of a contented cat, smug and arrogant and gloating. Wally knew it hadn't been Superman who had spoken. His hyperactive heart smoothly slipped into overdrive as realization dawned, sending adrenalin skittering through his veins. His body jerked again without his consent. _HeneededtodosomethinganythingsomethingcomeonWallythinkthink–_

Vandal Savage's face appeared briefly in his field of vision, the diagonal scars gleaming and ugly in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the space station. Superman's broad hand entangled itself in his bright hair, and with just a tiny flick of his wrist, send Wally skidding forward across the metal flooring. The impact was harsh and merciless on his already battered body. Wally felt a stinging twinge in his chest and inferred, with dismay, that his broken rib, mid-healing, had just snapped again. The pain stole the breath from his lungs even as his arms made abortive movements to lift himself off the ground, regain some dignity. A gloved palm, even larger than Superman's, buried itself in his red locks and forcefully jerked his head back. His scalp prickled painfully in resentment at the harsh treatment.

Eyes narrowed with pain, Wally made (reluctant) eye contact with Savage. The man (no, Wally corrected himself, the _monster) _was smiling. The emotion looked disturbing and out of place on the supervillain's face.

"It's been a while, boy," Savage said pleasantly, even as his arm slipped behind his wide back and brought forth a slender contraption. Wally's eyes flickered away from the satisfied face for a moment as they tracked the hand descending upon him, recognizing the loop dangling in the fingers–a metahuman collar.

"No!" he snarled uselessly as the hand in his hair shoved him to the ground. A massive boot clamped down onto his face not even a second later, collapsing him entirely and pinning him to the floor effortlessly, like one of the bugs that Wally's science class had fixed to the dissection board. The smell of rubber filled his nostrils and he wrinkled his nose, twitching under the weight of the criminal.

For once in his life, things were progressing too quickly for Wally to process.

Those fingers followed him down, securing the collar around his neck. The metal felt coldly malevolent pressing against the hollow of his throat. Maybe it was just Wally's imagination, but it seemed too tight, like every time he took a breath, it constricted just a little bit more. Something clicked–Wally felt the small vibration buzz against his skin–and then the world momentarily blurred as a strange sensation of profound weakness washed over him, through him, tugging him underneath the turbulent depths of his consciousness–

When he came to, he was limp, relaxed, his body curled on its side. There was a heavy weight compressing his ribcage, digging into his badly bruised skin. Voices were travelling overhead, in low, pleased tones, deep and slow and Wally was in so much pain and just so tired–

"Flash Boy is awake," a scratchy voice sniggered, uncomfortably close to his face. Wally felt hot breath roll over his face. Sharp nails dug into the skin of his face, forcibly turning his cheek to the side. His neck cricked at the uncomfortable position it was contorted into. He ripped his chin out of the grip, slurring out a grumble. The huge black boot pressing on his screaming side lifted momentarily, toeing him over onto his back. His limbs flopped uselessly over the hard ground.

"Indeed. And the others have been likewise secured?"

"Of course." The wicked, petulant voice from before, the one that sent icy sensations clawing up his spine. "Are you sure I can't just kill them, Vandal? Surely they're not useful to us! We already have the entire League under our command, what do we need their baby-heroes for?"

Wally's almond-shaped green eyes flickered open, half-mast, struggling to focus past the pain at his throat and blazing in his ribcage. He knew what was going on, could remember their mission, their _failed _last-ditch effort–Vandal, smirking, fastening a collar around his neck–then nothing–

A loud whooshing sound, and then, "Recognized: Lord Ra's al Ghul, Lex Luthor, Ocean Master, Queen Bee, Black Manta."

_Not good, not good at all. _Wally recognized every single one of those names and felt despair in his stomach like a ball of ice. How could they counter this turn of events? Every single one of those names was a hard-hitter, and the Team's concerted efforts had barely been enough to overcome even one of them.

He turned his cheek blearily, watching with something like panic and distress bubbling under a surface of shock as the infamous group approached. He was surprised by how quiet everything was; no crumbling Watch Tower going up in flames and smoke, no dramatic fights, no last-minute rebellions by some hero.

The villains… had won.

This wasn't supposed to happen. The good guys were supposed to win, the good guys _always _won.

"Congratulations Vandal," Lex Luthor, his smile sharp and wide like a slice of the moon, "and Klarion as well. You've both done excellently."

"I see the little tagalongs attempted to fight..." Wally's brows knitted together as he watched Queen Bee stoop over Miss Martian's unconscious figure, supervised by Klarion. When had they brought in Miss Martian? Wally had been the first one to enter the room, the first one captured by the mind-controlled League. His eyes flicked around the room, horror rising within him. Every single member of the Team was being held in magical cages constructed of Klarion's blazing red magic. Queen Bee laughed softly, running a hand through the green-skinned girl's thick hair. "How delightful. I must admit, I was almost beginning to think your plan would fail, Savage."

"I accounted for every anomaly," Savage replied indifferently, seemingly unruffled by Queen Bee's expressed lack of faith in his abilities. "Even for the... " the boot pressed down a little harder, and Kid Flash gasped wretchedly at the agony, "_sidekicks_."

"Speaking of them," Wally blinked away the instinctual tears, helpless as Ra's al Ghul gracefully stopped before the cage entrapping the unconscious figure of Robin. He tipped his head consideringly. "What have we decided to do with them? I, for one, would like to… _keep… _this one. Perhaps when the Detective breaks the control_, because he will, _Robin could provide considerable blackmail opportunity." He angled his cloaked shoulders to face the rest of the group appraisingly. "In fact, they could all be put away as hostages in case the mind control goes awry."

"Agreed," Lex Luthor joined. "But I as well have other purposes in mind, for the Superboy. I am partially responsible for his creation, of course. It would be impolite of me to abandon such a priceless project mid-way."

"_Oh! Ooh!_ If we're keeping them, I want the magic girl!" Klarion chimed, his pupils scorching flames and his smile jaggedly upturned. His voice rose in pitch as he grew excited. "And the Flash Boy! I want them both!" He turned to the thoughtlessly strewn figure of Zatanna, cackling. "I'll make them my pets. Wouldn't you like that, Teekl?" The familiar mewed its agreement, rubbing its sleek head against Klarion's smirking cheek.

The boot still pinning Wally to the ground shifted fractionally, tearing agony through his rib. Wally couldn't suppress the broken mewl of pain that burst from his lips. The league of supervillains collectively chuckled at his discomfort.

"No, Klarion," Vandal Savage said amusedly. "I think…_ I_ shall keep this one. He and I have unfinished business from our encounter where I stalled him as a favor for Count Vertigo."

_Oh no. No. Absolutely not._

Wally overcame his pain, brought through by the burning point of his humiliated rage. "Like hell," he snarled brokenly, twisting and grunting under the boot despite the stabs of white-hot pain that caused black dots to sway at the edges of his vision.

The next second, a kick was planted viciously in his side. Wally screamed at the explosion of pain, curling inwards and gasping. He glared upwards vaguely, defiant and unable to think clearly.

"Mind control?" Ra's al Ghul questioned smoothly as though Kid Flash's outburst had never happened, as Klarion let the cages fizzle away. Ra's bent over and captured Robin's slack chin in his hand, turning it to the side and examining it. Kid Flash snarled at the blatant handling of his best friend. He forced himself up, gritting his teeth, and began to crawl towards the Gotham Bird. His pride needled at him as the villains again laughed softly, but he forced it aside. He needed to get to Robin, his team. He had to make sure they were okay, had to get them away…

… he was so _scared_. He couldn't do this alone. He couldn't be the only one conscious to fight against The Light.

Slow, purposeful footstops. Vandal was circling him, watching him crawl with amused eyes. "Whatever method you see fit is suitable to me," Vandal said in reply to the master of the League of Shadows, though his gaze remained fixed on Wally. "As long as they remain–" his kick came again out of nowhere, solidly, knocking Kid Flash over "–_firmly_–under your thumb."

Wally couldn't get air in his lungs. The black fuzzies in his vision multiplied, momentarily sweeping him over. He blinked slowly to clear them, just in time to watch Ra's al Ghul throwing Robin over his shoulder, watch Klarion snap his fingers and spirit Zatanna away in a swirl of magic, watch Queen Bee wrench control of Kaldur's mind to make him carry Miss Martian, watch Luthor kneel by Superboy and whisper some kind of phrase in the clone's ear, some word that made Superboy's eyes snap open, all vacant and empty and mindless as he willingly stood on his own, complacent beneath Luthor's domineering hand on his shoulder.

"No," Kid Flash wheezed, gripping his side. He surged upwards off the floor, but his side screamed and he screamed in turn, back arching before he hit the floor again. His voice cracked on impact, momentum crippled. "_NO! Robin! Superboy! Kaldur! Wake _up!_ Miss M–"_

A giant fist collided against his cheek. Kid Flash was spun over by the force of the blow, something structural in his face cracking. Stars burst in his vision. He hit the floor one final time and knew no more.

As Vandal Savage lifted the unconscious teen into the air by his distinctive orange hair, he smirked, head tipping back in victory. He had almost called a retreat from the Watch Tower, but now he was grateful that he had decided to see if the situation could be salvaged. He threw the placid figure over his brawny shoulder, listening to the abnormal heartbeat, so strong that Vandal could feel it even through his outer coat. A scene, months earlier, flashed through his mind; the boy, ignorantly defiant, glaring at him with acid-green eyes through lashing currents of thick snow.

Who knew such additional… _prizes… _could be wrung out of the victory, as well?

A hologram, obviously pre-programmed by the sentimental fools, materialized as the last member of the Light disappeared, leaving Vandal alone with the unconscious, beaten teenager in his grasp, standing straight and proud in the center of the admittedly magnificent viewing room.

"Happy New Year, Justice League," the mechanized voice said, broadcasting the time and date. January 1st. An insipid tune began playing, and though Vandal usually preferred more refined music, he relaxed and closed his eyes, letting the notes wash over him in sweet triumph.

Happy New Year, indeed.

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><p><strong>AN: Sleep-deprived authoress is sleep-deprived and would enjoy some reviews to revitalize her into continuing this. Also would enjoy more stories vaguely like these. But mostly the reviews.**

**Signing off.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I've been trying to get this chapter out for so long, like you guys don't even know. But I started binge-watching clips of fight scenes from various animated DC movie titles and my writing blood for this story got a kick in the butt to get going. **

**Also, does anybody watch the Flash? I need to discuss with someone my Harrison Wells/Eobard feels. ;_;**

**It's been a year or so since I last updated this, so hopefully my writing shows improvement.**

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><p>"<em>When I heard authorities were cordoning off this highway for a speedster, I assumed I'd be confronting Flash himself. He and I are due for a reckoning. But I suppose I must settle for making him miserable by killing his brat sidekick instead."<em>

_ -Vandal Savage to Kid Flash, episode "Coldhearted"_

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><p>Wally had been serving the public as a hero for a few years now. When his powers had first manifested after the accident (well, okay, it wasn't really an accident), Barry had finally been forced to acknowledge Wally's desire to help, though he hadn't immediately crowned him as his partner (that would take a few weeks of Wally being unable to control his new abilities before Barry would finally cave).<p>

But Wally hadn't been tossed onto the scene with just a pep talk to back him up. Barry had been certain to provide the amount of training needed for such a dangerous job. Bomb dismantling, hostage situations, multiple-hostile scenarios…

…and especially kidnappings, notably when Wally was the one kidnapped.

His mind may not have been fully present at the moment, but this extensive training had taken root in his muscle memory; he woke calmly, despite the throbbing of pain in his body, and smoothly continued to feign consciousness.

"_I know it's hard," _Barry had sympathized during one practice, _"for us speedsters to stay still for long. But it could mean the distinction between life or death. Wait a few seconds or minutes if you can, try and scope out the situation as best as possible before giving signs that you're awake."_

He tried to do that now; his eyes remained lightly closed, but he strained his ears to the max threshold, hoping to discern noises like breathing or steps. A subtle flex of his limbs revealed that he was chained against a flat surface, arms pinned at the wrists above his head, and ankles and waist also strapped down. Immediately flickers of claustrophobia began to squirm in his gut, but he brushed them aside as best as he was able.

_Don't panic. Panicking doesn't fix anything._

His head pounded distractingly, and the slightest twitch of his cheek sent internal screams of agony raging through his mind. Savage had hit him, he remembered, and then he fixed that statement: Savage had hit him _many _times, but the powerful backhand was what had finally knocked him unconscious.

And of course, thinking about Savage suddenly reminded him about the thralled Justice League, and he cursed himself for being so selfish. The worry condensed in his chest like a solid, anxious weight. Was Barry okay? Were the others all right? What had they been doing while he was passed out? And Robin and Artemis and the others? What had happened to them?

He wished he hadn't been so stupid and blindly rushed ahead. If he had only hung back with the others before charging into the control room, perhaps their combined might could have been enough. Instead, he had blazed ahead as usual and screwed everything up.

The self-loathing didn't help matters at all. He reckoned five minutes had passed, maybe, but the restraints were too tight to be successfully ignored, and now the fear inspired by the chains and the worry about the others joined together to drive him into a panic. Flying open against his will, his eyes immediately began scouring his surroundings.

A dark, bare cell, tiny as well, with a solid, steel-barred oaken door. He was pinned in a horizontal position, on his back, on some type of rectangular board. There were no windows; the only light source came from a bare bulb dangling on a short cord from the ceiling. Emitting a sickly, white-washed light, it provided little comfort and only bleached the room of color.

All in all, it looked very much like a retouched medieval torture chamber. Homey.

"Nice taste, Savage. Knew you'd be the theatrical type," he muttered lowly, and then fell silent as the hot pain from his wounded face–fractured cheekbone, maybe?–made its complaints known once again. And something about that was wrong…

...he should have already been healed. Even if his "nap" had only been twenty minutes, which he highly doubted, the damage would have been nearly fixed. Alarmed, he began taking further stock of himself as much as he was able to in such a vulnerable, stretched position. His side hurt greatly, and he was familiar enough with what a broken rib felt like to know that it was probably not in very good condition. Most likely bruised, possible fracture.

He was baffled. Why weren't his powers–

–and then his fuzzy mind finally remembered Savage throwing him to the ground, grinding his boot on Wally's face to keep him pressed to the floor while he leaned down and fastened a metahuman collar around his neck–

–The collar! It must have been interfering with his accelerated healing!

Now the fear was really clamoring for attention (how could he escape if he was temporarily crippled?!) and he beat it back by forcing himself to get angry. Really?! A metahuman collar, like he was some kind of pet? How humiliating! When he escaped, he was going to plant both feet right in Savage's ugly mug with such force that Wally's bootprints would be his newest scars.

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><p>Time passed with excruciating slowness.<p>

At first, Wally tried to remain dignified and calm despite his situation, but he had never dealt well with forced stillness–neither he nor Barry did. It was why he twirled pens in his fingers and tapped and bounced his knee all the time. Many times, teachers had called him out on the habit and complained that he was a "disruption" in class.

After thirty minutes had ticked by (or so. He wasn't sure. Nothing to measure the passage of time by, and his internal clock was a little off-balance by a likely concussion) he started humming, very quietly, to fill the pressing silence. When that quickly got boring he started reciting math formulas in his head. It occurred to him that it was a good thing his school had gone on break for the new year, or else his absence would have been noted already. At least he wouldn't have any schoolwork to make up!

Slowed metabolism, for him, meant only slightly increased eating urges, which was possibly the only real blessing of this situation. If Wally still had his metabolism functioning at their astronomical levels, he might have been half-mad with hunger already. And if Savage ever saw him in such a state…the notion of being so helpless chilled him, and he shoved the thought away quickly.

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><p>Okay, now he was feeling a little <em>insulted<em>. What kind of self-respecting villain captured the hero, went to the pains of locking them up tighter than a packaged toy at Christmas, and just left them there? For _hours? _Unbelievable!

Not that he wanted to see Savage's stupid face and listen to his gloating, of course, but still… at this point, anything different would be welcome. Except torture, of course. Though Wally didn't think that was why Savage had kept him, or at least he hoped not. Hadn't the other supervillains discussed holding onto them as insurance?

Was this his fate, then? To be kept in a cell for days on end, for no other reason than a "just in case"?

Dread once again rose; he pushed it back with more difficulty than before.

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><p>"I trust you've realized the futility of your situation by now?"<p>

The deep, growly voice hit him like a cinderblock, like a bucket of cold water being dumped on his head. Wally instinctively jerked in the restraints, shuddering from the abrupt shattering of his light doze.

Savage's grotesque scars appeared even more pronounced in the weak lighting of the cell, and his groomed head nearly brushed against the waterstained ceiling. He looked larger than life, as though one flick of his pinky finger could snap every bone in Wally's body.

Trapped by the small space, his low voice might as well have been a shout. It seized Wally's concentration and gleefully reminded him about his injuries, courtesy of the criminal himself. His cheek twinged in pain.

"I don't know," Wally snapped, his tongue running away from him, "why don't you let me out of these and we'll see?"

Immediately, he froze. Stupid! The metahuman collar was still active; even if Savage released him, he would be practically helpless.

To his shock, Savage directed him an amused smile, and obligingly crossed the little cell in one huge step. Wally's skin crawled at the proximity. He stiffened and then just barely caught the gasp of pain as his ribs instantly thundered in protest. The hopelessness of his situation battered at him once again, warning of _danger! danger!_ as Savage plucked a key from his coat and unlocked the cuffs on Wally's limp wrists. They sprang apart and Wally gave a staggered inhale as the aching tension he had grown accustomed to slackened entirely in an instant. Muscles screamed in protest as he very slowly brought them down from above his head. Buzzing began in his fingertips and traveled up his arms once the blood flow resumed. His wrists were smeared with blood. He hadn't realized he had struggled so much.

Suddenly, both of his wrists were captured in one of Savage's huge hands. Yanking them away proved to be useless, and Wally froze, waiting for that enormous hand to snap both of the fragile bones. His acid-green eyes flicked upwards, scanning Savage's face for any intent to harm–and Savage was watching him, still smirking.

"Look what you've done to yourself," he chided, flipping Wally's wrists over to examine the damage on the paler underbelly. His gloves. His gloves were gone, along with the hidden lockpicking tool Robin had given him once and taught him how to use. The rest of his costume was still intact, though, including his cowl, though if Savage had the entire league in his possession that might be a moot point.

Oh God, what if Savage and the other members of the Light peeked at the league members under their masks? Wally tried to imagine the supercriminals discovering who Batman was under the mask and his blood froze. He had to do something, anything, before everything in his life went up in smoke.

"Don't touch me," he spat weakly, and pulled at his hands again. His head was pounding, his heartbeat a sickly whoosh in his ears. He was very tired and hungry.

"Just cataloguing damage," Savage answered absently, and then his hands were moving up, capturing the lip of Wally's cowl between two gloved fingers–

–"No!" Wally gasped, renewed by fear–

–and then his mask was sliding back, off his head, and that wound in his face screamed in agony as the movement tugged at the skin. Devastation sent a surge of disbelieving shock rampaging through his veins, and adrenalin mixed terribly with the concussion. Sick, he was going to be sick. His life was ruined–Savage _knew–_

Savage said nothing; he seemed to be enjoying the moment as his fingers probed at Wally's swollen face, who blankly stared upwards in total, debilitating shock.

"If it's of any comfort," Savage mused aloud, pressing experimentally on an area under Wally's eye socket–he hissed in pain–"I already knew your 'secret identity' before all this."

That was no comfort at all. Savage sucked at comforting. In fact, 'Vandal' and 'comfort' should never be in the same sentence unless there was an 'is not good at' between them.

"What?" was all he could pant, and then jerked his face away from Vandal's touch. The immortal let his face slide away agreeably, apparently finished with his inspection.

"Wallace Rudolph West, 15 years old, born November 11, 2000. Parents Rudolph and Mary West." Upon seeing the paleness rushing through the speedster's revealed face, he added lightly, "Care for me to go on?"

"How do you–"

"You've been unconscious in my care for two days; it appears that the loss of your abilities temporarily stalled your body's natural healing. Two days was more than enough time for me to investigate my newest little side-project."

Wally's blood chilled. "What do you mean 'project'?"

Vandal smiled ominously but said nothing. He moved to begin unlocking the restraints on Wally's waist and legs. Wally let him, choosing instead to gaze emptily at the ceiling. It was over. Vandal Savage, leader of The Light, knew his secret identity. Wally would never be able to be a hero again, and his family–oh God, his parents!–would never be completely safe.

It was over for him.

"Now, I expect you'll behave if I let you up?" Savage asked mockingly, hand stalling on the last restraint. Wally's gaze snapped to the immortal's smirking face and brightened into a white-hot glare. At his silence, Savage placed a hand on Wally's chest and began applying pressure. Agony bolted through his injured chest cavity and the breath was forced from his compressed lungs. He bucked uselessly, mouth writhing silently in the horrible pain.

After a few eternal seconds, Savage removed his hand, but let it hover menacingly. "I'd like an answer."

"_Yes," _Wally spat. _Don't cry, don't cry._ His chest throbbed with fresh pain. Definitely at least one broken rib.

Savage undid the shackle and finally Wally was free to move–except he couldn't. Every time he tried to sit upright his ribs hurt so bad he wondered if he might pass out. A hand at his shoulder provided leverage to shift him into a weak sitting position. He kept his back hunched; if he tried to uncurl himself, his chest protested viciously.

"Look at it this way," Savage said pleasantly, his hand still at Wally's elbow. Wally hated him. "With the collar and your current injuries, I won't have to resort to breaking your legs to keep you from any foolish escape attempts."

The gleam in his dark eyes said he would have gladly done so otherwise.

"My _hero_," Wally snapped shakily, trying to find a breathing rhythm that didn't jar his ribs.

"Heroes," parroted Savage, with great amusement. "Yes, I'd almost forgotten how you fools view yourselves. The _champions _of humanity, as it were." He removed his hands from Wally's side. Wally did his best to hide the resulting wobble in his balance. "But here you are, a fifteen-year-old already indoctrinated into their views." He briefly lifted the cowl attached to the back of Wally's suit and shook it for emphasis. "You look so young without your mask. A little duckling, lost without its mother."

Wally flushed horribly. "Shut up," he snarled, and swayed forward, weakly throwing a punch. Savage caught it solidly in his palm and squeezed the closed fist warningly. Wally gasped in pain. Once again, Savage waited just until the pain built into something like agony before releasing the half-crushed hand. His fingers were numb.

How strong _was _this guy?

Savage sighed. "It seems we'll have many similar lessons in our future. How disappointing. I had taken you to be a more intelligent sample of this age's youth."

Two things: 1, why did the concept of Vandal Savage, a _supervillain_, being disappointed in him hurt his pride so much? and 2, why was Wally still alive?

He repeated the last question out loud in the hopes of receiving a definitive answer. Their encounter had been a little while ago, when Wally had been transporting that heart, but he still remembered the barely-concealed loathing in Savage's voice when he mentioned the Flash. So why was Wally, the hero's protege, not dead yet?

"I promised you a painful death two months ago," Savage said simply, as though talking about a shopping list _yes we'll need two more shipments of minions and we're about out of evil milk_, "in order to torment your mentor. But, as any great leader, my plans are flexible. It seems your continued existence is more beneficial to me than your death."

His words summoned scenarios to Wally's mind of his own corpse, with a snapped neck and bloody body. It was a scene that had occasionally showed up in Wally's nightmares after he fended the man off on his birthday. Ice cubes seemed to drop into his stomach.

"Besides," Savage continued, suddenly gleeful, "if your mentor was, somehow, able to break our mind control, then I can barely think of what would hurt him more than glimpsing his protege reduced to a mere powerless drone–mind broken, will extinguished, and knowing that if _only _he had been smarter, or faster, he could have prevented it."

Wally's tongue went numb in–no, he wouldn't call it fear. Wally West was not afraid of Savage.

Maybe if he repeated it enough it'd come true.

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><p><strong>AN: Yo, the last few of you awesome people who reviewed freaking made my day. You guys were the inspiration for getting this out. To the anonymous guest who says he/she checks this ragged old story every few weeks–I hope this update makes you as happy as your review made me!**


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